Sarah vs Fulcrum's Transdimensional Killer Cold
by Course Jester
Summary: One-shot no longer! I happily present the Casey-centric sequel, "You're a Mean One, Mr. Casey". Chuck and Sarah are sick again, and Casey is...annoyed. Enjoy, and happy holidays to all!
1. Sarah vs the Killer Cold

_A/N – I'm just getting over a wicked sinus infection, and I've spent most of the past month coughing, blowing my nose so much that it resembles hamburger, and ingesting all sorts of medication. Taking that many drugs will eventually pickle your brain, and stories like this one are the result. I guess I just wanted someone to share my pain, even if that someone is fictional. My apologies for the starring role of mucous in this story; hopefully you won't get any on your shoes._

_This is mostly Sarah's POV, but there's a little Ellie and Devon at the end. It switches from first to third person, and my excellent beta BillAtWork pointed out that an English Lit professor might object, but we figured, what the hell._

_Chuck is really congested here, so his Ms and Ns are sounding like Bs and Ds, respectively. If it still doesn't make sense, pinch your nose shut and read it aloud. It's interactive fanfic!_

_This is set sometime in Season 2 after Chuck vs. Santa Claus, but before the last few episodes. BTW, I still don't own Chuck, Casey, Ellie (bummer!), or Sarah (huge bummer!). Fortunately, my wife and daughter still seem willing to put up with me, and that's more than I need or deserve._

_(12/31/11 – Reformatted and fixed some grammar/syntax issues.)_

_X X X X X X X X X X_

_**Sarah vs. Fulcrum's Transdimensional Killer Cold**_

It's nine o'clock in the morning, and I'm just about to unlock the front door of the Orange Orange when my phone rings. When I glance at the display, it scowls back at me.

"Good morning, Casey."

As usual, Casey skips the pleasantries and dives right in. "Easy day for you today, Walker. The nerd won't be here."

Those words, when spoken by Major John Casey of the NSA, send an involuntary shiver down my spine.

"What's going on, Casey?"

My reply is just a little too quick, and of course Casey picks up on that fact.

"Calm down, Walker. I wouldn't want all that yogurt melting because you got hot under the collar for no reason. Dorkus Maximus has a cold, that's all. When I went over to his place this morning, his sister asked me to tell Big Mike that Chuck is staying home today."

I'm not surprised that Chuck is sick. Last night was movie night with Ellie and Devon, and he kept sniffling and blowing his nose. He tried to blame it on allergies, but when he fell asleep on my shoulder halfway through The Dark Knight, I knew that something was wrong. There's nothing fun about a cold and I feel bad for Chuck, but Ellie is off today, and knowing that he has a doctor at home to care for him makes me feel a little better.

My concern for Chuck abating, a practical question comes to mind. I've already been exposed to Chuck, so I ask Casey if he has been as well. Someone on the team needs to stay well.

"Your concern is touching, Walker, but unnecessary. I don't get sick. Never have. There's no way I'd catch anything from Chuck, even if you dipped him in liquid plague and rubbed him all over me. Whoops – I shouldn't be giving you any ideas, should I? You might run over there in a skimpy little nurse's outfit, wanting to play Florence Nightie-gown with the sick nerd."

I used to get mad about cracks like that, but I let this one roll off my back. I honestly don't think that the man can stop himself any more. Plus, his idea is more than a little tempting.

"Funny, Casey. Don't you have a TV or a refrigerator to sell?"

"Now that you mention it, there does happen to be a suburban mower jockey checking out a Beastmaster. Grilled flesh – now there's something I can get behind. You have yourself a sunshine day, Walker." He disconnects without waiting for me to say goodbye.

So, I'm faced with a day at the Orange Orange without Chuck. The question now becomes, how do I fill the hours? During a normal shift, I'll see Chuck three or four times, if not more. He visits me on his breaks, and I'll take him some yogurt in the afternoon. If there's mission stuff going on, I'll see him even more. But today there is no mission and no Chuck, and the morning creeps by.

X X X X X X X X X X

The noon hour is even worse. Chuck's lunch break is usually the best part of my day at the O2, since he almost always spends it with me. It both worries and excites me that so much of my day revolves around him.

I call to check on him, but I get his voicemail. He needs rest more than he needs to talk on the phone anyway, and I figure that Ellie will have everything under control.

After lunch I amuse myself for a while by stapling gummi bears to the memo board and flinging a paring knife at them from ten paces, but there are only so many of the squishy little buggers you can decapitate before the game loses its charm. There are still two hours to go in my shift, and I'm bored to the point of working on some mission paperwork when my phone rings. Picking it up off of the counter, I'm pleasantly surprised to see a very pretty brunette smiling at me, and I can't help but smile back.

"Hi, Ellie. How's Chuck?"

I have no idea that I'm asking such a loaded question. Ellie's voice is crackling with anger.

"Well, Sarah, that depends on how much longer I'm left alone with him."

Huh?

"Ellie, what does that mean?" Whatever it is, it can't be good.

"My brother has been a bit...difficult today. I'm sorry to call you, but I didn't know what else to do. Is there any way you can come over for a bit after work?"

"I suppose so, Ellie. Is something wrong? Has Chuck gotten worse?"

"Physically, no. It's just a bad cold, nothing scarier than that. But Chuck is not the most agreeable patient in the world, and I could use just a little break. You were here last night so you've already been exposed, and a short visit shouldn't do you any more harm. Please? You'd be doing me a huge favor." She's almost pleading.

"Okay, Ellie. I'll swing by as soon as I can get out of here."

I could feel her relief through the phone. "Thank you so much, Sarah. You've saved my life. And quite possibly my brother's."

X X X X X X X X X X

I'm not a very nurturing person by nature. It's possible that I possess the ability, but if I do, it's buried under quite a few layers of paternal indifference and CIA training, and it does not constitute part of my primary skill set. Now, if you need a double agent eliminated or some French assassins poisoned, then I'm your girl. But if you're sick, I'll probably tell you to take two of whatever makes you happy and don't call me again. I don't mean to sound callous; it's just that ten years as an agent hardens a person. When you've been trained to keep functioning despite having been stabbed or shot, it's hard to conjure up a lot of sympathy for someone with the sniffles.

Yet here I am at the door of Casa Bartowski, about to try my hand at playing nursemaid. Why is that? Because the person with the sniffles is Chuck, and it's my job to protect him. Granted, most CIA agents wouldn't consider a common rhinovirus worthy of direct intervention, but then I seem to be defining my role as Chuck's protector more and more broadly all the time.

Which is a problem. But even if I didn't find myself "protecting" Chuck as often as possible in order to spend time with him, I'd still be here today because Ellie called. She sounded frazzled and desperate, and I couldn't say no to her. I like her too much not to help her out.

Which is another problem. This little apartment is just chock full of problems for me, even without communicable diseases. I take a moment to banish these troubling thoughts and, fixing my "Sarah the sweet girlfriend" smile on my face, I knock on the door. Ellie answers after a few moments, and looking at her I can tell that things were worse than I'd imagined. There's a frayed look to the normally pretty brunette, and she seems as though she might benefit from prescribing herself a Paxil or two.

"Sarah!" Ellie sweeps me into a hug and nearly squeezes the life out of me. "Thank God you're here. I don't know how much more I could have handled without hurting someone. And by someone, I mean my ass of a brother."

Hoooo, boy. This is _not_ awesome.

My smile can't have faltered for more than an instant, but Ellie catches the flicker. She grabs my wrist and literally yanks me inside, seemingly (and rightly) afraid that I'm considering making a break for it. She slams the door behind us, and as it closes I feel a sense of impending doom overtake me, because I have no idea what to do in this situation. I'd give anything right now to be trapped in this apartment with a dozen heavily armed Fulcrum agents instead of the Bartowskis. Fulcrum agents I can handle, but I have no idea what to do with Frazzled Ellie and Sick Chuck the Ass.

While I ponder my unfortunate circumstance, Ellie starts doing what Bartowskis do when they're out of sorts. She talks, and quickly. "I'm sorry to drag you over here, Sarah, but I didn't know what else to do. You see, Bartowskis have great constitutions, so Chuck doesn't get sick very often. But when he does, he has no idea how to handle it. He gets bored and frustrated and turns meaner than a starving grizzly bear, and there's only so much of his foul mood that I can take. Devon is much more patient with him, but he's pulling a double today, so I have Chuck all to myself and he's driving me up a tree." She says all of this in one breath.

I'm having trouble wrapping my head around the idea of Chuck acting like a jerk, so I ask for clarification.

"We're talking about your brother here, right? Tall, sorta gangly? Sweet guy with warm brown eyes and soft curly hair?"

Ellie catches the doubt in my voice, because her eyebrows shoot up, and she gives me a look that could set concrete on fire. "Oh, that's him. But tell me something, Sarah. Has Chuck ever been sick since you met him?"

Properly chastised, I apologize and admit that he hasn't. Ellie seems mollified, and I feel like I've just dodged a bullet. The brunette continues in a slightly softer tone.

"Trust me, he's like a completely different person. My normally sweet brother just disappears; it's like some Incredible Hulk kind of thing happens. I keep waiting for him to start busting up his room, bellowing _'CHUCK __**SMASH **__PUNY COLD!'_ I've been dealing with it all day, and I'm done. He's yours. Or if you don't want to deal with him either, we can just have him killed."

Yikes. Good thing Casey's at work instead of listening in. "I'll see what I can do, Ellie. After all, I wanted to check on him anyway. Maybe just seeing a different face will cheer him up some. I still can't believe he's that much of a pain, though."

Ellie actually snorted. "Well, he is. He and Devon both swear that I'm just as bad, but I can't see how that's possible." I have to force down a chuckle at that, because I know the stubborn brunette well enough by now to see _exactly_ how that's possible. I don't know what Devon is doing at the moment, but I'm sure that somehow he just rolled his eyes in disbelief at Ellie's last statement.

I head towards Chuck's room, glad for the chance to see him but still wondering what good I can really do here. Ellie is a doctor, for heaven's sake, trained to deal with sick people, and Chuck has her at the end of her rope. And although the CIA taught me many and varied things at the Farm, Bedside Manner 101 hadn't been on the syllabus. They did teach me how to knock people out, though. Maybe that'll come in handy.

Just as I'm about to knock on Chuck's door, my musings are disrupted by a shockingly loud noise.

_**PHWAOOOGH!**_

Startled, I look back at Chuck's sister, who's still standing at the opposite end of the hallway. "Ellie? There seems to be a dying moose in Chuck's room."

The doctor rolls her eyes. "I wish. A dying moose would probably be a better patient. And if not, I could just shoot him." Ellie spins on her heel and heads into the kitchen, making it very clear that she is washing her hands of her brother's care and leaving him to my tender mercies. I turn back to face the door to Chuck's room, mentally preparing myself for my encounter with the beast that waits on the other side.

Hopefully, he hasn't turned big and green.

X X X X X X X X X X

Chuck answers my knock in a rather surly tone. "Cobe id, Ellie. You've been id ad out of by roob all day; I don't dow why you're docking dow."

Wow. Cranky much?

"It's not Ellie, Chuck. It's Sarah. Can I come in?"

"Sarah? Well, yeah, you cad cobe id. If you wadt."

Okay, that might have been the least enthusiastic welcome I've ever gotten from Chuck. I guess he really does feel lousy. "Well, I did come over just to see you, so it's pretty much a wasted trip if I don't do exactly that." I push the door open and go in, and I can immediately see at least part of the reason why Ellie is freaking out.

Chuck's room is a complete disaster.

_Serenity_ is playing in forty-two inch HD glory, but its only audience is the two half-eaten bowls of chicken noodle soup sitting on the TV stand. Comic books are strewn across the bed and falling onto the floor, where Spider Man, Wolverine, and at least half of the Justice League are slowly being suffocated by a pile of dirty tissues the size of Mount Kilimanjaro. For all I know, Morgan might be under there as well.

The nightstand is covered with Ellie's various attempts at a miracle cure. Formula 44D, Tylenol Cold and Flu, Vicks Vap-O-Rub, and yet another bowl of soup crowd its surface, vying for space with still more used tissues. In her desperation, it appears that Ellie has tried everything short of hitting her brother over the head with a brick.

Maybe she was saving that in case I hadn't been able to come over.

In the middle of the carnage sits Chuck. He's at his computer, mindlessly surfing the web, and he doesn't even spare me a glance as I walk up behind him. Still more dirty tissues cover the computer desk, and I can't help but wish that I owned stock in the Puffs Company right about now.

After a few moments Chuck finally decides to acknowledge my presence, and he spins in his chair to look at me.

"Why are you here, Sarah?"

That's all I get. No smile. No nervous babbling. No fidgeting. He's red-nosed and bleary-eyed and it's obvious that he feels miserable, but I'm still stung. I've learned to revel in the little things since they're all I'm allowed to have, and his near total lack of reaction to my presence hurts more than a little.

"Nice to see you too, Chuck. In answer to your question, I came over to see how you're feeling. That's what girlfriends do."

"Even the fake ones?"

Oh. So this is the guy Ellie told me about.

I feel like I've been punched in the gut. I know that our relationship status – or non-status – is a sore spot with Chuck, and I know how frustrated he is. And he really does try to be a good sport most of the time. Every once in a while he can't help mumbling a comment or two under his breath, but his frustration has to come out somehow, and those little asides are like the valve on a pressure cooker, letting off just enough steam to keep things from exploding. I get that, and even though each one of them hurts, I try to play them off as best I can. But this one?

This one was outright hostile, and completely unfair.

The silence is thick, and Chuck seems to realize that he's crossed the line. He looks slightly sheepish, but even so I get nothing more than a mumbled 'sorry' as he turns to reach for yet another tissue. Rationally, I know that this is still the same sweet, caring, completely wonderful Chuck that I...like, and that he's just in a bad mood because he feels like death warmed over. I decide to take the high road and let his nasty comment fade away unanswered.

_**PHWAROOOO!**_

Chuck looks disgustedly at the ex-tissue in his hand. "Jeez! I blow by dose, ad the secod I'b dode, I deed to blow it agaid! Whad the hell? It's like the liddle batceria id by head have tuddled through the walls of space and tibe idto some alterdate dibedsion of bucous, ad the hordes of sdot bodsters that live there are pouring through the rift _**and cobig straight oudda by dose!"**_

Two years of watching Chuck's favorite shows has affected my brain. I know this because I'm now picturing row upon row of tiny translucent green blobs, each with a tiny green helmet on its blobby little head and a tiny green rifle over its blobby little shoulder. They're jumping like Army Rangers into a gaping dimensional rift, where they open their little green parachutes to make a soft landing behind enemy lines in the Kleenex Mountains.

There's absolutely no way on Earth that I can stifle a laugh. Which is not good, because Chuck sees it. His scowl deepens, and his retort is none too quiet.

"Thaks for the sybathy, Sarah. Really, you did't have to bake a trip all the way over here just to laugh at be, dot whed Casey lives right dext door."

Well done, Agent Walker.

I'm here to cheer him up, thereby preventing his sister from murdering him, and all I've managed to do so far is piss him off even more. Ellie is probably wondering if it would be much more trouble to dispose of my body in addition to her brother's.

"I'm sorry, Chuck. Don't be mad at me. I just got this picture in my head of these little green monsters..."

Not working. Still scowling. I need to switch gears.

"You know what might help? A clean room. Let me clear away all of this stuff for you, and I bet you'll feel better. I know that I always feel better when everything is neat and tidy." I grab the unused trash can from the corner and reach for the dirty tissues, silently wishing for a HazMat suit. I can face torture in a Serbian dungeon, but mucous still icks me out. Go figure.

_**PHNOOORGH!**_

"There's no poidt id pickig ady of theb up, Sarah. They'll just grow back." As if to prove his point, he tosses the tissue he's just filled onto the pile that I'd started excavating. He completely ignores my stunned look as he reaches for yet another one.

_**FNAAOOORRP!**_

I toss away the trash can and sigh in frustration, but Chuck can't hear me over his own diatribe.

"It's eighdy degrees outside, Sarah. _Eighdy! _How in the world can adyone get a cold _**whed it's eighdy degrees**_?" Chuck is in full out rant mode now, pacing and sniffling the entire time. "I bed id was a custober. How fuddy is that? A custober giving the copuder guy a virus!" Chuck stopped in mid-stride to unleash another Kleenex-shredding honk. He must have knocked something loose in his head, because the now destroyed tissue comes away from his face to reveal red eyes as wide as saucers. He looks like he just stumbled upon the Ultimate Answer to Life, the Universe, and Everything.

"Oh, WAID a bidute! You know who id could be? I cad't believe I never thought of this, bud id bakes too buch sedse! It HAS to be!"

After my earlier giggling fit, I decide that it's safer to play along this time. "What makes too much sense, Chuck? What has to be?"

"_**FULCRUB!"**_

It takes a split second for the mispronunciation to register, and when it does, I'm once again struggling to contain my laughter. Laughing would not be good right now. Still, this idea is so crazy that I can't resist just a little shot.

"You mean Fulcru_**m**_? You think that Fulcru_**m**_ has hatched an evil plot to give you a _cold_?"

Chuck looks at me as he might look at a slow child. "Dat's whad I said! _Fulcrub! _Dey've beed after be sidce Christbas, dey know where I work! Dey had to habe sdeaked idto the Buy Bore and codtabidated by workstatiod! The edtire Derd Herd could be sick! Where's by phode, I godda call Big Bike!" Chuck races around his room, apparently convinced that he can head off the epidemic sweeping the Buy More if only he can find his iPhone.

I should tell him that the iTunes Store doesn't have an app for plague fighting, but somehow I can't find the right words. That might be because of the giggling.

I'd started again. Couldn't help it. Chuck was not happy.

"I cad't believe you're laughig at this! You're supposed to protect be!"

Now I'm almost doubled over, and the sheer outrage on his face is making it even funnier. "I'm...I'm *_hoo, hee hee* _I'm sorry, Chuck. I just _*hah*_ I don't have the right *_hee*_ equipment for this *_heh* _mission! I brought my Colt *_hah*_, but I should be packing _Day-Quil!_"

I collapse onto the bed, clutching my sides and gasping for air. Chuck rushes over and snatches comic books out from under me, saving Iron Man from the hideous fate that befell his friends under the Kleenex. His entire face is now red, and I have never seen him this mad. But there's something more, something in his eyes, and I stop laughing as suddenly as if I'd been slapped.

Hurt.

He looks forlornly at Iron Man, and drops him onto the floor to join his fallen comrades. Without even glancing my way, he crosses the room and collapses into his chair.

My coming here has been like throwing gasoline on a fire. I have to fix this, but I don't know how, and I feel like screaming at myself.

My self-pity only lasts for a moment, though. I am a CIA agent, and we do not fail. When things don't go according to plan, we improvise. We are trained to think on our feet and adapt to any circumstance. We're the best in the world, and I'm the best of the best.

I suddenly know exactly what I have to do.

It's not a pretty solution. Agents are taught that they are valuable resources, and that the best plans are usually the ones that involve as little risk as possible. But sometimes, it just can't be helped. Sometimes, you have to put yourself at risk to get the job done. We try to stay safe, but at at the end of the day, the mission must come before personal safety.

And my mission is Chuck.

So for the sake of my mission, I step into the line of fire.

I cross the room, pull him from his chair, and turn him towards me. And then I kiss him.

Nasty cold notwithstanding, I cup his face in my hands and kiss him square on the lips. He's motionless for a moment, too stunned to react, and it's like I'm kissing a statue. But then something clicks and he's moving, his arms winding around my waist and pulling me closer, crushing me to him. My hands find their way into his hair and I deepen the kiss, and I don't let up until his mouth pulls away from mine, gasping for air.

He pulls back just far enough to look into my eyes, searching them for reasons. I think he's about to ask me why when he suddenly melts into me, head lowered onto my shoulder, the momentary burst of adrenaline fading fast. I pull him closer to me, and I can feel his entire body relax.

"I feel really horrible."

He mumbles this into my shoulder, his voice so small and pitiful that I almost kiss him again. "I know, Chuck. That's why I'm here."

"I'b sorry I was beig such a jerk. I just really, really hate beig sick."

"I know that too, Chuck. I've never known anyone who was less of a jerk than you. I can forgive you this one time."

"Thaks, Sarah."

After a long minute he finally pulls away, asking me the question I want to avoid. This is yet more proof that he feels rotten, because a full-strength Chuck would have asked instantly.

"Why did you do that?"

I do what I do best; I deflect. "Well, you were getting a little crazy, so it was either kiss you or shoot you. But since Ellie's right down the hall and I don't have my silencer..."

Chuck rolled his eyes. "Oh, ha ha ha ha. Very fuddy."

"I thought so. Guess it depends on your perspective."

"Doesd't everythig? Seriously, though, why did you kiss be?"

I can't answer him, because the truth is that I just couldn't think of anything else to do. Not that kissing him is a bad thing in general , but in this instance I was desperate and frustrated. But saying that would hurt Chuck, and after our little meltdown a moment ago, that's the last thing I want to do. And when I realize that, I know that I have an honest answer for him.

"Because I want you to feel better. And maybe that kiss will help."

He lets that sink in for a moment, then gives me a small, shy little smile. "Yeah, I guess it will. That's a really good reasod. Bedder thad the reasod that I cabe up with, adyway."

"Oh, really? What was your reason?"

"I thought it was because you could't thik of ady other way to get be to shuddup."

Damn, he knows me frighteningly well. I look down, but I'm smiling as I do. "Well, maybe that was in there somewhere, too. What can I say? My nursing skills leave something to be desired."

"You would't say that if you dew how buch bedder I feel after that kiss. I recobbend that techdique very highly."

He smiles at me, a real full-tilt Chuck smile, and I can feel myself blush right down to my shoes. This used to set warning bells to ringing in my head, yet another sign that I've become too attached, but it doesn't bother me so much any more. It makes me feel like I'm just a girl who has a great guy, and I like that feeling. I'm not really comfortable with it yet, but I'm trying to get there. Maybe once it sinks in, I'll finally find the nerve to tell Chuck all about it. Or better yet, show him.

Chuck's breathing has gotten quieter. The manic energy is gone and he's different now, deflated, like the drooping balloons from a week-ago party. He blows his nose yet again, but this time he actually tosses the used tissue into the trash can before looking back at me with very red, very tired eyes. I can see that he's finally crashing.

"Well, I should go. You need to get some sleep."

"Yeah, probably. If dothing else, a dap will keep be safe. I doubt Ellie would kill be whed I'b sleepig."

"You know you need to apologize to her too, right?"

Chuck takes my hands again. He looks innocent and yet guilty at the same time, like a six year old who's just broken his mother's favorite vase. "I dow. I was preddy rodden to her today. I'll bake it up to her."

I look down at our hands, fingers still laced together. I know that I have to let go in order to leave the room, but I can't quite seem to make myself do it. Chuck follows my gaze and, realizing that he hasn't let go, he pulls his hands from mine as if burned. The awkwardness has somehow crept back in, and Chuck gives me a crooked smile as he shoves his hands in his pockets.

As I turn to leave, I take a last look back. Chuck seems like he's about to ask me something, but he catches my glance and quickly looks away instead, his face troubled. I know what he wants, and I know what my answer will be if he asks, but it's better this way. He really does need his rest, and I really do need some separation.

I almost make it to the door before he finally summons the nerve to ask. His voice is so timid and small that I might have missed it, had I not been listening for it so intently.

"Sarah? Stay with be?"

There's no hesitation in my answer, but I do have conditions. "Okay, Chuck. I'll stay. But you really do need some rest."

"I dow. Sobehow, I thik I'll rest bedder if you're here with be."

X X X X X X X X X X

The front door of Casa Bartowski opened, and Devon somehow managed to drag himself through it. His double shift had been an absolute killer, filled with procedures, complications, emergencies, and general pandemonium, and it had worn his usual awesomeness down to a 'pretty decent'. He badly needed a quick shower, a bite to eat, and a whole bunch of Ellie. He focused on that last bit for a moment, willing the awesomeness to return.

Until he remembered that he was coming home to yet another patient. _Not_ awesome. Not awesome at all.

There was the possibility that Ellie had murdered her brother by now, but that thought only provided a fleeting moment of evil glee. He doubted that hiding Chuck's body would be any more fun than dealing with his cold. Figuring that there wasn't much point in putting off either one, he headed toward the sounds coming from the kitchen.

Ellie was on tiptoes, reaching to put a bowl away, and Devon slid his arms around her from behind. The brunette practically purred when Devon nibbled her earlobe and whispered, "Hi, babe." She turned in Devon's arms, wound her arms around his neck, and drew him in for a leisurely kiss. Devon was out of breath and slightly stunned when they finally parted.

"Wow, babe. I'd work double shifts more often if it meant I could come home to that. Gotta say, though, I didn't expect to find you in this good of a mood." He looked around suspiciously. "Is Chuck okay?"

Ellie's smile grew even wider. "You know what, Devon? I have absolutely no idea."

Devon's raised eyebrows indicated that an explanation was required, so Ellie provided one.

"Most of the day was pretty bad. I tried everything I could think of and Chuck still felt awful, and he got more and more hateful. Eventually, I got to a point where I'd rather walk into a pit of rabid wolves with pork chops strapped to my legs than go into his room again, so that's when I called for reinforcements."

Devon was not happy. "Babe, did you rope Sarah into coming over?"

"Well, she is his girlfriend! Besides, she's already been exposed. Bad things were going to happen if I hadn't gotten a break, and you might have noticed that I'm already pretty thin on family."

"I guess we should go check on them, huh?" Devon sighed heavily, shoulders sagging. Ellie finally seemed to realize how tired her fiancé was, and she pulled him back in for another hug.

"Okay, we'll peek in. Sarah's been here for a couple of hours now, and other than the first ten minutes or so, it's been quiet. I've been content to let sleeping Chucks lie."

"That, or you didn't want to clean up after a grisly murder/suicide." Ellie punched Devon in the arm, but she smiled just a little. He grabbed her hand, lacing his fingers through hers, and pulled her down the hall towards Chuck's room.

Just as Devon's hand reached for the doorknob, another big sneeze split the air. This one, however, was different than the ones Ellie had been hearing all day. It was more...ladylike. Ellie and Devon instantly shot each other a knowing look.

"Well, babe, it looks like we're gonna have two patients tomorrow instead of one."

Ellie looked chagrined. "It's no surprise. They were snuggled together pretty closely on the couch last night." Ellie took a deep breath, as if to steady herself for the trials to come. "Let's go see what's up."

Devon opened the door for her, but Ellie only made it two steps into the room before coming to a complete stop. She was staring at the bed. Devon followed her eyes, and when he saw what she saw, the ill effects of his long day vanished.

Chuck and Sarah were asleep.

Chuck still had a tissue in his hand, but the arm attached to that hand was wrapped around Sarah. They were snuggled more closely together than two spoons in a drawer. Chuck's face was buried in Sarah's hair, but even so he seemed to be breathing more easily, and on Sarah's face was the smile of an angel, perfectly content.

Ellie's joy was so intense that Devon could almost feel her vibrate. He tugged gently at her elbow, trying to pull her out of the room before the delighted squeal building inside of her could spill over the dam. Reluctantly she tore her eyes away from her sleeping brother, and she gave Devon a small kiss and a blinding smile as she left the room. She practically floated down the hall towards the kitchen, saying something about making chicken soup for two. Grinning after her, Devon started to pull the door closed, but his hand froze on the knob as he looked again at Chuck and Sarah.

He's such a good guy, Devon thought. He's taken so many hits, and he needs something like this. Sarah is beautiful and smart and completely in love with him, and he deserves every single bit of her. Devon didn't know why they fought so hard against their feelings, because if they could see what he saw as he looked down at them, they'd give in. Oh, well, he thought. Sooner or later, they'll figure it out.

Devon heard Ellie whistling happily in the kitchen, and he smiled. Pulling the door closed, he took one last look towards the bed, and when he saw Chuck's arm pull Sarah even closer, he felt like whistling a happy little tune himself.

Yep. It's just a matter of time.

He headed down the hall towards the kitchen and Ellie, and he felt his heart grow lighter with every step.

True love just can't be denied.

X X X X X X X X X X

_So there you go. I did warn you that I have an OTC drug-addled brain, right?_

"_The Farm" is the nickname for the CIA's uber-secret agent training facility. I believe it's in rural Virginia, but I won't test that theory for fear of getting shot._

_Those of you who have read The Hitchhiker's Guide to the Galaxy series will already know that the Ultimate Answer to Life, the Universe, and Everything is 42. Tragically, Douglas Adams passed away before he could let us in on the question. I miss him a lot._

_Thanks for reading! Please drop me a review to let me know what you think._


	2. You're a Mean One, Mr Casey

Hi there, and happy holidays! It's me, the long-lost CJ.

This little bit of goofiness started out as a sequel to Sarah vs. Fulcrum's Transdimensional Killer Cold. It still is, but thanks to the wonderful, awful idea of my beta, **aardvark7734**, it's now a Christmas sequel. Sort of. You'll see. :)

I guess you don't have to be familiar with SvFTKC to read this, but it sure would help. It's a quick read. I left the congested speech out of this one for simplicity's sake.

Anyhoo, this little story assumes that Chuck's apartment is still bugged on Beckman's orders, so that Casey can keep an eye on Chuck when Sarah isn't around or is out of commission. It takes place in late S3, and it helps if you remember a little Morgan/Sarah chat from "First Fight."

I don't own Chuck or the Grinch. Not making any money here, just having a little fun. Enjoy!

**X X X X X X X X X X**

**Return of the Transdimensional Killer Cold, or You're a Mean One, Mr. Casey**

_Every Who down in Who-ville liked Christmas a lot...__  
__But the Grinch who lived just North of Who-ville did NOT!_

_The Grinch hated Christmas! The whole Christmas season!_

_Now, please don't ask why. No one quite knows the reason._

Casey stared at the TV screen, his face fixed in a malevolent frown. Football players ran across the screen, trying to win the Chiquita Banana Bowl or the Maytag Washer Bowl or whatever the hell bowl it was, but Casey couldn't concentrate. _On college football_, he couldn't concentrate. _Dammit._

_It could be his head wasn't screwed on just right._

_It could be, perhaps, that his shoes were too tight._

_But I think that the most likely reason of all_  
_May have been that his heart was two sizes too small._

_But, whatever the reason, his heart or his shoes,_  
_He stood there on Christmas Eve, hating the Whos..._

They were sick again. It was bad enough being their neighbor, given everything he had to put up with. Thankfully there was no mic in the bedroom – Walker had drawn the line at that, and Chuck had been too shocked at the idea to even speak - and Casey hadn't pushed in the slightest. But the moron was still the Intersect, so the rest of their apartment was still wired, and that meant that whenever Walker was out of action or not around, Casey still suffered. It meant that he knew when the new Batman graphic novel would hit the stores, why the latest film adaptation of a Frank Miller comic sucked (not to mention knowing who the hell Frank Miller was in the first place), and when Frightened Rabbit was coming to LA. It meant that he still sat through COD marathons and sandwich discussions. It meant that he knew about things with names like Whedon and Glau and Firefly (okay, that last one was actually pretty good). He thought life would get better when Walker moved in, but her wholehearted embrace of all things nerd had actually made things worse, especially since Chuck made it his personal mission to get her "up to speed."

Casey spent a lot of his days wanting to shoot things.

_Staring down from his cave with a sour, Grinchy frown__  
__At the warm lighted windows below in their town,__  
__  
__For he knew every Who down in Whoville beneath__  
__Was busy now, hanging a mistletoe wreath._

_"And they're hanging their stockings!" he snarled with a sneer.__  
__"Tomorrow is Christmas! It's practically here!"_

The last time the nerd got the sniffles, Walker went over to his apartment and "took care" of him. Naturally, that meant that she got sick too, and she wound up spending two entire days in the moron's room. They watched movies and ate Ellie's chicken soup and blew their widdle nosies, but mostly they cooed and fussed over each other. He'd had to "lose" the surveillance tapes to protect his idiot partner (which did no good, since that evil midget Beckman apparently had duplicate surveillance on the nerd the whole time), and the sugary sweetness of it all had made him wretch. Now it was all happening again, but since they were an official couple this time around, the cooing and fussing was even worse.

It was enough to make him gorram sick. _Stupid nerd. _

_Then he growled, with his Grinch fingers nervously drumming,__  
__"I must find some way to keep Christmas from coming!_

F_or, tomorrow, he knew...all the Who girls and boys_

_Would__ wake bright and early. They'd rush for their toys!_

_And then! Oh, the noise! Oh, the Noise! Noise! Noise! Noise!_

_That's one thing he hated! The NOISE! NOISE! NOISE! NOISE!_

They'd been at it for twenty four hours now. Twenty four solid, mother humping hours of sniffling and coughing and chicken-soup-swilling and "Bless you, sweetie!" Casey was at his wits' end. Even worse, they had decided to spend large chunks of time watching the very same insipid Christmas specials that Casey had successfully managed to avoid for the better part of two decades. Singing puppets. Flying reindeer, with and without radioactive noses. Ghosts of Christmases past and present and singing goddamn snowmen. But the worst, the absolute worst, was some terrible movie made up entirely of "meet cutes" set in England. If he heard Walker and Bartowski "awww" and snuggle even one more time he'd… he'd…

Just then, he heard Bartowski over the mic feed. "Hey, Sarah, wanna watch 'Love Actually' again?"

A low growl resonated in his throat. That. Was. IT.

_"And they'll sing! And they'll sing! And they'll SING! SING! SING! SING!"_  
_And the more the Grinch thought of this Who Christmas Sing,_  
_The more the Grinch thought, "I must stop this whole thing!_

Casey stalked over to his weapons locker and angrily punched in the code. It opened with a hiss, and he allowed himself the smallest of smirks as his eyes found the item he needed. The irony made everything just perfect.

_"Why for fifty three years, I've put up with it now!_

_I MUST stop this Christmas from coming...but HOW?_

_Then he got an idea. An awful idea!_

_The Grinch got a wonderful, awful idea!_

Casey stalked across the courtyard, formulating his plan as he went. He was winging this, and Casey _hated_ winging things. He much preferred thorough planning and shooting to kill. But there was just no time. Something had to be done and, if this worked, he would finally have some peace. He knocked on the door.

"Who is it?" Two cute, congested little voices, in perfectly disgusting harmony.

Casey fought back a grimace as he opened the door. Walker and Bartowski were _still_ cuddled up on the couch together. Casey wondered if they had sores on their asses from all of the not moving. "It's Santa Claus, here with presents for sick little spies."

Casey was struck by the difference in their expressions as they looked over at him. Bartowski smiled, happy to see him. Walker, on the other hand, looked suspicious. _Huh. Not hard to tell which one of them is the career spy_, Casey thought. _Gotta take care of her first._

"Casey, you shouldn't be here! We're sick!" The nerd was almost as much of a mother hen as his sister, but without the attractiveness to make up for it.

"Your concern is very touching, Bartowski, but I think I'll be fine."

"Why are you here, Casey?" Walker was looking more suspicious by the second. _Gotta get this over with, and fast._

"I have something for you. Both of you, actually. Old NSA cold remedy."

Bartowski's face lit up like the Christmas tree in the corner. "Really? Because that would be awesome! Is it fast-acting?"

Casey grinned evilly as he reached behind his back. "Oh, yeah."

_**THWICK! THWICK!**_

A few seconds and a whiff of CO2 later, it was all over. Chuck and Sarah had slumped over, Twilight Tranq darts sticking out of their necks. They fell together like puppets whose strings had been cut.

_Then he stuffed all the food up the chimney with glee._  
_"Now," grinned the Grinch, "I will stuff up the tree!"_

_And the Grinch grabbed the tree, and he started to shove,_

_When he heard a small sound like the coo of a dove._

_He turned around fast, and he saw a small Who!_

_Little Cindy-Lou Who, who was not more than two._

_The Grinch had been caught by this tiny Who daughter_

_Who'd got out of bed for a cup of cold water. She stared at the Grinch and said, "Santy Claus, why,_  
_Why are you taking our Christmas tree? WHY?"_

The beautiful, beautiful stillness was broken by the most annoying of voices coming from the hallway behind him. "Chuck? I thought I heard something..."

_Grimes. Oh, goddammit all._

Morgan's eyes went back and forth from Casey, to Chuck and Sarah, to Casey's gun hand, to the darts in Chuck and Sarah's necks. Casey could see in Morgan's expression the exact moment that the furry little goblin figured out what had happened. It took much longer than it should have. The NSA agent closed his eyes and sighed in disgust.

_Never thought Grimes would catch me before I got out. Damn, I'm slipping._

"Casey? What did you do?"

Casey winced; he couldn't bring himself to open his eyes. He could feel the red creeping back into his brain, feel the low growl building in his throat. He felt Grimes move past him towards the couch, and when he finally opened his eyes, he saw the bearded gnome bending over Chuck and Sarah, checking for pulses in the wrong spots and muttering vaguely about disappointment in a father figure. After a moment, Morgan stood up and wheeled on the NSA agent. "You tranqued them, man! Why did you tranq them? I can't believe this. Jeez, you think you know a guy! Alex and I were just talking about how much more of a sensitive yet still scary dude you were becoming, and then you go and do this! I didn't know you had it in you. Well, that's not true. I knew you had it in you, but I didn't think you'd ever actually d-"

_**THWICK!**_

Morgan's eyes popped wide open for just a second before, dart in neck, he fell face first on top of Chuck. Casey almost laughed. Almost.

_Moron._

His work done (and then some), Casey started to leave. He had every intention of leaving them as they fell, just to make a point. But as he stared at the three unconscious people lying haphazardly on the sofa, two solid years' worth of annoyance flashed through his brain. And he got another idea. Another wonderful, awful idea.

This time, he did laugh.

_It was quarter past dawn. All the Whos still a-bed,_  
_All the Whos still a-snooze, when he packed up his sled,_

_Packed it up with their presents! The ribbons! The wrappings!_  
_The tags! And the tinsel! The trimmings! The trappings!_

_Three thousand feet up! Up the side of Mount Crumpit,_  
_He rode with his load to the tiptop to dump it!_

There was an art to arranging a scene, Casey thought. Some agents never mastered it. A successful staging was all in the details; bodies lying naturally, no odd angles or unnatural positions. These three had to look like they'd just fallen asleep or it wouldn't work, and this just HAD to work. Chuck and Sarah were already sickeningly intertwined, so they didn't need to be moved very much. But Morgan...Morgan was the key...everything had to be just so...a little higher with the hand, and...perfect. Casey grunted happily. Now he just had to find some of the old video surveillance gear...

A few minutes and a quick-and-dirty camera install later, Casey stood back to admire his handiwork.

"There. And I even have time for a catnap and a sandwich before the show."

_"Pooh-pooh to the Whos!" he was grinch-ish-ly humming._  
_"They're finding out now that no Christmas is coming!_

_They're just waking up! I know just what they'll do!_  
_Their mouths will hang open a minute or two_  
_Then the Whos down in Who-ville will all cry BOO-HOO!"_

_"That's a noise," grinned the Grinch, "that I simply must hear!"_  
_So he paused. And the Grinch put his hand to his ear._

Casey grabbed his Chuck (he'd never admit it out loud, but the moron's namesake sandwich was damned tasty) and hurried into his living room. Like a good dogfight, the coming show would be both spectacular and over in no time flat, so he'd already routed the camera feed to his TV. He had just enough time to pour himself some good Scotch and grab a Cuban cigar before settling into his recliner.

Chuck came around first. Casey took a bite of his sandwich.

"Muuhhh. Huhwahh. S-Sarah?" There was more groaning. "Saaaaarah? Whuuh...why does my mouth taste like...feet?"

Casey grinned.

Walker slowly shook her head, running a hand through her hair. "Huh? Chuck? Whahappun? How did we...?" She paused, closed her eyes again. She sighed as she said, "Chuck, your hand."

"Uh, what about it?"

Casey's grin got even wider. It hurt a little.

The blonde smiled groggily and closed her eyes. "Your hands are roaming again," she mock scolded.

Chuck blinked at Walker. The nerd slowly raised both his hands to his face and looked at them owlishly, as if trying to figure out just what they'd been up to while he was asleep. "My hands went somewhere? They didn't tell me..."

Casey almost choked on his Scotch when Walker's eyes flew wide open. He bit back a laugh as he watched her gaze fall slowly downward.

"Wha? M-M-Morgan? When did you...y-your hand is...MORGAN! I told you not to touch my chest! NEVER, EVER TOUCH MY CHEST!"

Grimes was just starting to come out of it. Casey was so happy, he actually allowed a small chuckle to escape his lips.

"Huuuhh? Saruhh?" He blinked several times, finally following Walker's eyes towards his hand. "Oh. Ohhhhh, God. Sarah, I-I dunno how...I mean, I would never..."

Casey grunted happily at Morgan's flustered pleading. He popped the last bite of grilled egg bread into his mouth.

"Sarah, I swear, I..."

_**WHACK!**_

_And what happened then...? _

_Well, in Who-ville they say _

_That the Grinch's small heart _

_Grew three sizes that day! _

Casey downed the last swallow of his Johnnie Walker Blue just as Morgan's backside hit the floor with a resounding thump. He knew that Walker would find the camera and figure it out. He also knew that he'd get an earful from his daughter once the news made its way to her. But as he lit his Cohiba and relaxed back into his recliner, he couldn't bring himself to care about the consequences. He'd managed to get two years' worth of payback in one fell swoop, and that was something even Colonel John Casey could be proud of. Flipping back over to the satellite feed, he surfed until he came upon his very favorite Christmas special of all time, one he actually kinda liked. It was almost over, but catching the last bit was the perfect end to a surprisingly good day. "Heh. Merry Christmas to me."

Welcome Christmas. Bring your cheer,

Cheer to all Whos, far and near.

Christmas Day is in our grasp  
So long as we have hands to clasp.

Christmas Day will always be  
Just as long as we have we.

Welcome Christmas while we stand  
Heart to heart and hand in hand.

**X X X X X X X X X X**

Thanks for reading, and the very merriest of Christmases to you and yours!


End file.
